


a helping hand

by sameboots



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bisexual Jaime Lannister, Bros helping bros, F/M, Mutual brojobs or bust, brienne is long-suffering but loving, jaime is a hot dummy doing his best, no hardcore pining, prelude to a handjob
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-23
Updated: 2019-10-30
Packaged: 2020-12-28 21:14:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21143300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sameboots/pseuds/sameboots
Summary: Jaime Lannister introduces his good friend Brienne to the art of brojobs—“What exactly—exactly—is a 'brojob’?” she asks, and if her fingers clutch the pillow like a lifeline, that’s her own damn business. Being best friends with Jaime Lannister frequently requires emotional flotation devices.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on tumblr for the dialogue prompt “I’m not drunk enough for this.”
> 
> Unbeta’d and extensively silly

**  
**“I’m not drunk enough for this.” Brienne groans, burying her face in a throw pillow. **  
**

“It’s really better if you aren’t drunk,” Jaime helpfully supplies. 

Brienne pulls down the pillow far enough she can glare at him over it. The thing is, he looks so guileless, as if what he suggested was as simple as going halfsies on a metric ton of takeout and not–not whatever Jaime thinks a ‘brojob’ includes.

“What exactly, _exactly,_ is a 'brojob’?” she asks, and if her fingers clutch the pillow like a lifeline, that’s her own damn business. Being best friends with Jaime Lannister frequently requires emotional flotation devices.

Jaime shrugs. “Handjobs. Fingering. Blowjobs. Going downtown on you.” He ticks each act off on his fingers. “I’ve never known it to include full-blown sex, but I guess it could if it came to that.”

“Are you trying to tell me this isn’t something you’ve just made up?” Brienne asks skeptically.

“I don’t think I made it up?" 

"You’re not sure?”

“Well,” Jaime tilts his head like a confused puppy. “Addam and I used to give each other a helping hand and then when I went to college, some of the other lacrosse players, like, on road trips or during tournaments…”

“So you were friends with benefits?”

Jaime takes a moment to consider this, eyes narrowing in concentration. “Not really? Friends with benefits sounds more like … like an arrangement. This is just, 'Oh, we’re hanging out, and now I have a boner but I still want to finish watching the game’." 

"Football gives you a boner?" 

"And baseball.” He pauses briefly. “And hockey. Sometimes soccer? Also, you know, some movies or TV shows, too.”

“Are you hard literally all the time?” Brienne asks, flummoxed and a little horrified, and desperately trying to keep her eyes off his crotch.

“No! I don’t get hard _at_ the games or at movie theaters.” He scoffs as if _that’s _the ridiculous part of this conversation. “Just…when I’m with my friend and we’re really enjoying ourselves…alone.”

“Have you thought it might be the person you’re with?” Jaime actually looks surprised at the question. Brienne rolls her eyes. “If you don’t walk around with a constant hard-on, but you get hard-ons around your very close friends, maybe it has something to do with the friend.”

“Huh.” It’s like watching a lightbulb come on over someone’s head. “_Huh._”

Brienne can’t help but snort. It earns her a half-hearted glare. 

“Is that a no then?” Jaime asks. 

She throws the pillow at his head. “That’s your reaction?" 

"I don’t really care what it’s called,” he says easily. “I care if you don’t want a brojob. Mutual brojob or bust.”  
  
“I might want one more if you’d stop _calling_ it that. It doesn’t even describe what it is you’re giving me.”

“Well,” Jaime says with one of those wicked grins that, truly, would make anyone wet or hard. “I would start with fingering, but if you were interested in–”

“Wait.” Brienne squeezes her thighs together and takes a deep breath, and Jaime, for once in his life, keeps his mouth shut. “Questions first. Is it always mutual? If I give you a handy, do I at least get reciprocal attention?”

“Yes.”

“Until I come? No matter how long it takes you.”

“It won’t take me that long.”

Ah, to have the easy confidence of a hot twenty-five-year-old man. 

“Second question: are there any rules?”  
  


“You really love to suck the fun out of things, don’t you?”  
  


“Do you want a handjob or do you want to insult me?”

Jaime stops whatever he was going to say in return, sucking in a breath, that same look in his eyes as when he’s decided to stop horsing around and actually try. 

“The only rules are whatever we make them. The whole idea is just to give a helping hand to a bro in need. No more or less than that. No pressure. No consequences. It doesn’t mean anything more than what it is: bros helping bros." 

Brienne stares at him, processing the whole idea. It sounds like it could be a bad idea, but it also sounds like it could be a great idea. It’s all the fun of a hook-up, but without the mortification of rejection, the awkwardness of trying to talk to new people, or the fear of pissing off some guy that can’t find your clit with both hands and a search warrant. 

"You can’t get weird if I tell you how to touch me,” Brienne warns him. She can see him try not to smile. “If you aren’t willing to take constructive criticism–”

“Seven hells.” He throws the pillow back at her. “For all I care, you can just use my hand or mouth like a sex toy and direct me where I need to go without my input. The whole point is mutual satisfaction, not boosting my ego like some pathetic insecure asshole." 

"I don’t want you to be a sex toy,” she says. “I have sex toys. There’s no point in doing this if you don’t want to do it yourself.”

“For fucks’ sake.” Jaime shifts closer to her, leaning in before he says, “I promise that I will keep trying until my fingers get arthritis and my jaw locks up if that’s what it takes to make you scream.”

Brienne’s breath is coming in short bursts, her whole body flushing, her thighs rubbing together. “Okay,” she says, squaring her jaw.  
  


“Okay?”

“Are you hard or not?”

Jaime’s mouth goes slack for only a moment. “Really?”

“You didn’t expect me to agree?”

“Not for a second.”

Brienne reaches between them and finds him at least half-cocked against the front of his sweatpants. His eyes close, a deep groan rumbling from his chest. “Well, I’m agreeing.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a demonstration is sometimes helpful.

The weirdest part is how weird it isn’t. 

Even the first time isn’t that weird. Maybe it’s because they’ve seen each other naked before. Or maybe it’s because there are all these parameters and absolutely no pressure about it. It’s not like disappointing a stranger or even someone you’re dating.

If she grips him too tightly (or not tightly enough), if he forgets to coax instead of badger her clit, they can just _say _so. It doesn’t have to become a _thing_. 

It also turns out that Jaime’s best ideas are in the realm of mutual sexual pleasure. It only took a few times of fumbling around trying to figure out what the other liked best before he suggested a demo session.

“It makes sense,” Jaime says, as casually and confidently as he approaches everything to do with his dick. “We know how to get ourselves off better than anyone else. It can only make things better.”

“I think we’re doing pretty well.” Jaime is an_ enthusiastic_ cunnilinguist. Brienne has the bite marks to prove it. 

“Duh. But it could be even better." 

For some reason, the idea of Jaime just _watching_ her get herself off is… 

"Would we be doing it…simultaneously?” Brienne asks haltingly. 

“How would that work?” Jaime’s eyebrows furrow. “How am I going to concentrate on what you’re doing if I’m jerking off?”

“So we would just…take turns?" 

"Ye_p_.”

Brienne’s heart pounds harder at the idea of Jaime just watching her touching herself. It feels scarier than just letting him bury his face between thighs somehow. At least then, she doesn’t have to think about how she looks to him. His face is occupied.

“It’s cool if you don’t want to,” Jaime says, interrupting her anxiety spiral. When she focuses on his face again, he looks a little worried, or at least concerned. “I just thought it would be helpful.”

“No, no,” Brienne says. It _does_ actually seem like a good idea. If it’s already pretty good, this shortcut could only make it better. Probably. “We should do it. But–but can you go first?”

A familiar look comes over Jaime’s face. The one he gets right before he slips his hand into her underwear and smirks at how wet she already is, because she is every single time. He smirks as he unbuttons and unzips his jeans, lifting his hips up enough to shove them and his boxers down his legs. He’s half-hard already, and with a heated smirk and a few strokes of his own palm he’s all the way there.

It’s mesmerizing in a way that she thinks it shouldn’t be. There’s a reason dickpics aren’t usually appreciated. Cocks are cocks. Balls are balls. But the entire effect of Jaime stroking himself, the way his hips start undulating as he thrusts into his own palm, the way his other hand reaches between his legs to fondle his balls, the way his breath gets faster and heavier with every stroke–it makes her want to reach between her own legs, even if that’s in defiance of their agreement.

By the time, Jaime grunts and comes all over his hand and stomach (well, his shirt), Brienne feels like it’s only going to take the barest brush of her fingertips against her clit until she falls apart. 

Jaime’s eyes flutter open, glassy and heavy-lidded with satisfaction. His breathing calms, but his eyes never leave hers, not even as he reaches down to grab his boxers and wipe up the come as best as he can. 

He licks his lips and says, “Your turn,” and it takes everything in Brienne not to whimper at how husky his voice is. 

There’s a fine tremor in her hands as she slips her shorts and underwear down her legs. It’s stupid, but it’s so difficult to spread her legs and let Jaime just sit at the other end of the couch looking at her, already so wet and flushed and wanting. She has to close her eyes as she slides her fingers over her slick flesh, whimpering when she brushes against her clit. 

It only takes a few circles of her fingertips around and over her clit before she’s lost to the sensation of it, eyes closed, her free hand reaching up to pinch and pull one of her nipples until it’s a hard peak. When she comes, her hips lifting off the couch, a desperate cry tearing from her throat, she presses two fingers into herself so her cunt has something to clutch around.

Brienne sucks in a shuddering breath and opens her eyes to find Jaime still staring at the fingers still buried inside her. She slides them out and reaches for her own shorts to drag them back on. By the time she looks back up, his gaze is trained on her face again. 

“So you don’t need as much penetration,” he says, his voice sounding tight and a little shaky. 

She shakes her head. “It’s nice, but it’s not as important as the way you stroke my clit.” She swallows, licks her dry lips. “And you like more handling of your balls.”

“Yeah,” Jaime agrees with a nod. 

“Cool.”

They just stare at each other for a while, messy and sated, the air smelling like sex. Finally, thankfully, Jaime blinks, “I need to uh–” he looks up with a strangely shy little smile, “clean up.”

Brienne rolls her eyes, “You know where the bathroom is.” She flicks a hand behind her. “You go first.”

She squirms uncomfortably once he leaves the room, resisting the urge to stroke her still tender skin. She looks around the living room aimlessly, wanting to do something, but not wanting to walk around on her still shaky legs. 

Jaime finally walks back into the room wearing–

“Is that my shirt?” she asks.

Jaime looks down at it for no reason, holding it out by the hem. “Yeah. I got jizz all over mine.”

“For Seven’s sake.”

He just laughs and tells her, “Your turn." 

She grumbles and knocks his shoulder when she walks past him. "I want it back the next time you come over.” She leans her head around the bathroom door before she closes it. “And it better be clean.”


End file.
